


A Place in Your Heart

by Elorianna



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets, Milex - Fandom
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rekindled love, Sexual Content, canonesque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elorianna/pseuds/Elorianna
Summary: During the early days of the coronavirus pandemic, the world has become a different place. Alex finds himself longing for something more familiar, but where in the midst of all this strangeness can he find somewhere that still feels like home?
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 24
Kudos: 80





	A Place in Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I know that many of us are stuck in self isolation at the moment, and that a lot of us are also anxious about current events. I wrote this story not just for myself but for you guys as well, and I hope it helps at least some of you out there to feel a little better. Much love, and take care of yourselves x
> 
> Update 07/06/20: This story is now also [available in Spanish](https://www.wattpad.com/899268911-%2B14-a-place-in-your-heart-traducida-milex-one). Sincere thanks to the translator :)

Alex didn’t recognise the feeling at first. It was a sort of oddness that overlaid the familiarity of his everyday surroundings. He noticed it when he sat down to breakfast, sipping his coffee and tapping his spoon against the side of a hard-boiled egg. He sensed it as he stood on his front drive beneath the calm LA sky, which remained as perfect and as blue as ever. He felt it like an invisible mist hanging in the air as he brushed his teeth at night, staring into his reflection as though it might yield an answer to the mystery of the strangeness that surrounded him. But the mirror showed only his face, and that was just the same.

Nevertheless, he felt out of place, as though the world had tilted one degree sideways and left him teetering off balance. Perhaps it was to be expected. After all, the world was different now than it had been only a few weeks before. It was the world that was out of place, not him.

He sat on his sofa and stared at the television screen until his eyes were heavy, then dragged himself to bed to lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling. He buried himself in ordinary things which did nothing to distract him. He played his guitar, and even that seemed not quite real, the music a meaningless jangle of notes from which he could glean no sense.

That was when he knew that the out-of-placeness wasn’t coming from the world after all. It was coming from himself.

He was homesick, and LA had never felt less like home.

He stopped going outside. He began to survive on what was left in the cupboards, which wasn’t much, and so eventually he was forced to have food delivered. He waited until the delivery guy had gone before bringing the bags in from the doorstep, washing his hands scrupulously with hot water and soap before sinking back on to the sofa in front of the television.

There was no good news. First people were stockpiling food and necessities. Then they were stockpiling guns. _Guns_. Flights were being cancelled. There were talks of closing the borders. Still, he waited. He waited for three long, agonising days, until he was sure of himself. After that, he didn’t dare wait any longer.

He chartered a private plane, feeling slightly ridiculous about it. Such a thing felt far beyond the borders of extravagance, even for him. He spent the flight alternately pacing the aisle and gnawing on his fingernails, gazing at the clouds outside the porthole windows. His thoughts circled worst case scenarios. What if he didn’t make it in time? What if they closed the borders before he could land? He hadn’t told anyone he was coming. Not even his parents. He knew if he allowed himself to speak to his mum, he’d be overwhelmed with the urge to see her, and he couldn’t risk that. It didn’t matter how healthy he felt or appeared to be, he couldn’t take that chance. Not with both his parents being the age that they were.

The thought stopped him in his tracks and sent him scurrying back to the small cubicle bathroom. He locked the door behind him and stood for a while, feeling the rock of the plane as he stared himself out in the mirror. He washed his hands for thirty seconds, humming a tuneless song under his breath.

They landed on time and without a hitch. The grey London skies were sharp, windswept, and the buildings rose up around him as he snaked through the traffic in his private car, the city enveloping him like the embrace of a long lost friend.

He was home, but as he tapped out a mindless rhythm on the steering wheel, that feeling of oddness remained. The streets were quiet, for London. He halted at the traffic lights and watched the folks coming and going from the supermarket on the corner, their arms laden with shopping bags and their faces laden with frowns. He jumped at the sound of a car horn from behind him and saw that the lights were green, slammed his foot on the pedal and let the current of the traffic sweep him onwards, further towards the east side of the city.

He hadn’t consciously considered his destination. He’d merely supposed that he was on his way home, and so he was somewhat surprised to find himself, some fifteen minutes later, in completely the wrong neighbourhood and parking up outside a residence which wasn’t his own. He’d been driven here by some internal compass, his hands and feet steering him while his mind zoned out on autopilot.

He got out of the car and blinked once at his surroundings. The streets were quiet here too, quieter than before. He walked slowly up to the familiar front door. The paint on it was weathered and flaking away in places, just as he remembered, and the names on the buzzers were half rubbed off. Still, he knew which one to press. He pressed it now and a dull burr echoed back to him from the other side of the door.

The sound rattled his senses and he found himself waking as though from a trance. What the hell was he doing here? He oughtn’t to have come here. What if he’d made a mistake, and he was wrong about being healthy? What if he was being irresponsible? What if–

The door swung open.

“Al?”

Miles stood there gaping at him, his eyebrows raised and his brown eyes wide. He was dressed impeccably in fitted jeans, a smart button-up shirt and polished shoes, despite the fact that he was presumably staying at home just like everyone else. The thought made Alex want to smile, but his face was frozen and wouldn’t move. When Miles stepped towards him, he took a step back.

“I’m not– I’m not sick,” he managed to stutter. “But I think maybe I should go. I’m sorry, this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t be here at all, I–”

He had no time to say anything more. Miles’s arms were already around him, his nose was pressed into the curve of Miles's neck and he was inhaling the scent of him as though it were oxygen.

“Don't be daft,” Miles murmured against his ear. “You're not going anywhere.”

Miles let him into the flat. Inside, it was not as familiar as Alex had hoped. Miles had redecorated and the walls still smelled faintly of paint. The kitchen was different too, and when Alex pulled open a cupboard to look for two mugs to make tea, he found dishes instead.

Miles made him sit down. While the kettle boiled, Alex turned on the television and discovered that the oddness had followed him right here to Miles’s couch. In a few short minutes he learned of the empty shelves and the shortages, the closing down of work places. He heard about the lack of respirators and the pressures on the National Health Service. They’d even stopped filming EastEnders, which shouldn't have mattered at all in the grand scheme of things because it was a bloody stupid soap opera that he didn’t even watch. But still. Somehow there being no more EastEnders on the telly felt akin to listening to his favourite band play their songs without any bassist.

Miles came back over with the tea and made him turn the television off.

They didn’t discuss the arrangements. Miles simply made up the bed in the guest bedroom and Alex unpacked his suitcase. Aside from the hug on the doorstep, they maintained a six foot distance from one another which Alex insisted on. He wanted to be sure, not just doubly but triply. He didn’t care about himself, but Miles was asthmatic and he couldn’t bear the thought of making him sick. Miles wasn’t happy about it and was vocal in his disagreement. He insisted he was fine, that Alex was making too much of a fuss. He didn’t need to be coddled, he said. He was fit and healthy, he was on top of his game, he had the immune system of a horse. Alex ignored him. He waited until Miles was napping on the couch, then stole his keys and went out to do the grocery shopping.

“Al, you didn’t have to do that,” Miles said, when he woke. His eyes were still half-lidded with sleep and his expression sat somewhere between annoyed and bemused. “I’m perfectly capable of doing me own bloody food shopping.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I know that. But look at it this way – now you don’t have to.”

Miles sighed and shook his head. He stood up, stretched, and made his way into the kitchen to put the kettle on again.

Several days passed. They fell into a sort of routine, going out as little as possible and noodling on their guitars for most of the day with no real goal in mind. At five o’clock each evening they tuned in to the daily press briefings from Downing Street. Miles would only let Alex watch the news for a maximum of half an hour afterwards. The rest of the time he insisted on sending Alex ridiculous memes about toilet roll hoarding in an attempt to lighten the mood. Sometimes they texted each other from their separate beds when Alex couldn’t sleep.

Alex video called his parents. His mum was relieved that he was home, and sad when he said he couldn’t come and visit. His dad told him that one of their neighbours had come down with a cough and a temperature, and even though he made light of it, Alex could tell he was worried. The conversation lost its seriousness when Alex couldn’t find the button to hang up the call, leaving him and his parents staring awkwardly at each other while Miles called out ineffective instructions from the other side of the room between his fits of helpless laughter.

On Monday night, things changed. There was no press briefing at five o’clock and Alex felt listless as he wandered from room to room, unable to settle to any particular task. At half past eight, the prime minster made a national public address. The country was going into lockdown. No one would be allowed to leave their homes except to buy necessities, to seek medical aid, to care for a vulnerable person, or to work where it was impossible to do so from home. Outdoor exercise was restricted to only once per day, and people were forbidden to gather in groups of more than two. The police would have the power to enforce compliance with the rules.

Alex listened as the prime minister talked on about shutting down the shops, the gyms, the libraries, and banning all social events except for funerals, but his consciousness floated somewhere above his own head. He was looking down at himself and at Miles as the two of them sat there, silent and tight-lipped, caught up in the midst of a historical moment that neither of them could fully comprehend. He watched it happening as if it were a movie, as if reality were just a screen that he could swipe out of at any moment if he chose to do so.

He became aware that his hand was creeping across the couch, and that Miles’s warm fingers were wrapping around his own, but it seemed to be happening from a long way away.

The image on the television changed and the newsreader began to announce the evening headlines, but still he sat there frozen, not quite sure whether he was really awake, or whether he was living out the scenes of a story.

“Hey,” he heard Miles say. “Al. Hey. Come back.”

And then he felt the warmth of Miles beside him, pulling him back into his body, and he landed back in the world with a thump. Social distancing all but forgotten, he let Miles pull him into a tight hug and he buried his face in Miles’s neck. Miles rubbed soothing circles up and down his back and he felt himself begin to float as his stress dissolved beneath the gentle pressure of Miles’s fingers.

“Alright?” Miles asked softly against his ear. “Fucking weird times, eh?”

Alex nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Fucking weird.”

Later that night, Alex couldn’t sleep. He lay in his bed staring at the dark long after him and Miles had texted each other goodnight. His mind was racing with repetitive thoughts, soundbites and images, and no amount of deep breathing or meditation was helping. That was why he was still awake at 3am to hear Miles having a coughing fit from across the hall.

He was out of his bed and into Miles’s room so fast that his feet barely touched the floor, his blood thumping crazily in his ears and his skin prickling with what felt like a thousand tiny needles.

“Miles? Miles are you alright? What happened? What’s wrong?”

He switched on the bedside lamp and Miles flinched and covered his eyes. “Christ, Al, what’s the matter?”

“I heard you coughing. Are you sick?”

“What? No, I’m not bloody sick. I woke up to drink some water and I swallowed it the wrong way. I’m fine.”

“You… you’re fine?” Alex sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. “You’re sure? You’re sure you’re fine?”

“Al, come ‘ere, you’re shaking.”

Miles lifted up the covers and gave Alex’s arm a tug. Alex had no strength to resist. He let Miles manhandle him into the bed and wrapped both his arms around Miles’s waist. He shivered as the heat from Miles’s body began to warm all his extremities.

“Jesus, Al, your feet are fucking freezing.”

“S-sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Miles pulled him closer and began to comb his fingers through Alex’s hair. “How about you just sleep here tonight, eh?”

“Don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re never a bother.” Miles planted a kiss on the side of his head. “Don’t be daft.”

Alex stayed in Miles’s bed that night. And the following night. And the night after that. It became another part of their routine. Alex was grateful that Miles didn’t make him talk about it. That sort of thing had always been a bit of an elephant in the room, what with that time from before when the two of them had briefly been more than just friends. If their bed sharing was triggering memories of that past experience, then Miles at least had the good grace not to say so, and Alex had the good sense to ignore it.

They stayed inside and followed the rules. Alex insisted on taking over the grocery shopping and this time Miles let him do it without arguing. It helped him to feel a bit better, knowing that he was being useful and that through his actions he was helping to keep Miles safe.

He spoke to his parents every night and Miles called his folks too. Miles downloaded an app which let them video chat with Matt, Jamie and Nick all at the same time. They got drunk together and laughed and it was almost like the old days.

But Alex still struggled to sleep. It was hard to keep a lid on his dark imaginings as the death toll rose across the country and the evening news kept showing ever more dire statistics.

One evening he called his mum and heard his dad coughing in the background. It was an old cough, his mum said. Just allergies, nothing to worry about. His mum didn’t sound worried either, which ought to have reassured him, especially as she was known to worry excessively about almost everything to do with his dad’s health. But that night, sleep wouldn’t come to him at all and he lay there blinking endlessly at the ceiling whilst trying to think about literally anything else, anything else but that.

At some point he became aware that he was no longer sleepless alone, and that Miles was awake beside him. Miles hadn’t made a sound to signal his wakefulness, but Alex knew by heart the patterns of his breathing while he slept, and this was a different rhythm.

“Hey.” Miles’s breath whispered across his cheek. “Al? You awake?”

“Yeah.”

The mattress creaked as Miles rolled on to his side. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Nowt really. Just thinking about earlier. About me dad.”

“Yeah. Thought you might be. Anything I can do?”

Alex shook his head. “Nah.”

The mattress creaked again and when Miles spoke his voice was a little closer. “Well, just try to let it go for tonight, eh? You know stressing about it’s not gonna make you feel any better.”

Alex sighed. Miles had said something similar to him before, but letting go of his anxieties was easier said than done. “I know that,” he said. “But I can’t help it. Me brain won’t stop ruminating ‘bout what might happen. Me thoughts just keep spinning, round and round and–”

“But we're alright just now, aren't we?”

Alex turned his head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean right now. We're warm, we're comfortable. The world might be going to shit, but this moment right here, it's not so bad, right?”

Alex shrugged beneath the covers. He could trace the outline of Miles’s face in the dark. The curtains weren’t fully closed and a sliver of streetlight caught the shine of Miles’s eyes whenever he blinked. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying, be here now. I'm not denying it’s a shitshow out there, but it’s the little moments that’ll keep you sane. Everything can’t be awful all the time.”

There was a rustle of fabric and then Miles’s hand crept out. He circled Alex's arm with his fingers and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“You know I love you,” he said. “You do know that, right?”

Alex fought the urge to turn away. His throat was tight and he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to answer. He reached for Miles’s hand instead. He made a lattice of their fingers and hoped that Miles would understand him, even if he couldn't say the words out loud.

His gesture was answered by the squeeze of Miles’s hand. “It’ll be alright,” Miles said. “Everything passes with time.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right, thought you knew that by now.”

Alex snorted a quiet chuckle despite himself. No one else ever did that for him. It was only Miles who could make him laugh even when he was stuck at the bottom of a pit of despair. It was only Miles who could make the darkness seem a little bit brighter with only his smile. Alex reached out and scratched his fingers through the stubble of Miles’s buzz cut.

“I know you love me,” he said. “I love you too.”

Miles was quiet for a moment, and then his hand moved from Alex’s arm to his waist. He pulled Alex closer and their feet tangled beneath the covers. “No matter what happens,” he said. “We’ll still have each other. Okay?”

Alex sucked in a breath and nodded. His throat was tight again. He could feel Miles’s thumb caressing his hip bone, back and forth in soothing strokes. His own fingers were painting a similar pattern in Miles’s hair and down the back of his neck. He thought he felt Miles shiver, but perhaps that was just his wilful imagination. He remembered that he’d quite enjoyed making Miles shiver, once upon a time, and he supposed he might enjoy it still, were he so inclined to try. But no. He and Miles had long since laid such dalliances to rest. They’d relegated them to the past for ancient reasons that he knew were both significant and sensible, or which at least had seemed so at the time. It was funny that he couldn’t seem to recall now what those reasons had been.

He and Miles lay still, watching each other. He traced circles over Miles’s skin while he sought his brain for a memory, but he came up with nothing. He was tired, he supposed. Or perhaps just too focused on finding his feet in this strange new world to be able to recall what had gone wrong between them. Either way, all that past drama no longer seemed so important. And besides, it had all been such a very long time ago.

Alex fitted his palm to the curve of Miles’s neck. “Miles?”

“Yeah?”

“If I kissed you right now, would you take offence?”

He heard Miles swallow in the dark, and there was a moment of silence. Alex felt himself blush. Had he made a mistake? Perhaps he’d misread the signals. Miles’s thumb was still on his hip, but now it was still. He began to wonder if he ought to apologise, but then Miles cleared his throat.

“No,” he said quietly. His voice was low and raspy, and god, but Alex hadn’t heard him sound like that for a very long time. “No,” Miles said again. “I wouldn’t take offence to that.”

Alex caught his breath as he felt Miles slip a hand beneath the hem of his t-shirt to caress the skin of his lower back, and then Miles’s fingers were dancing along his spine and sending sparks flying to the pit of his stomach. It was ridiculous, really. How could it be that after so many years, Miles could still fire him up with such a simple touch? He would have pondered the mystery further, but then they were kissing and all other thoughts were driven from his mind.

Miles kissed just like he remembered, with heat and passion and buckets of enthusiasm, and yet there was an undercurrent of gentleness to his touch which made Alex feel like he’d landed in safe harbour. The rest of the world melted away, and within the circle of Miles’s arms there was nothing else but the two of them. Here, at last, was something right, something familiar in this new tilted reality; a place that still felt like home.

Clothes were discarded and they retraced old pathways with fingers and tongues, rediscovering each other like a favourite forgotten record played over and over again. Each moan and every sigh was like a reminiscence of the past, and yet it was not the past that Alex focused on. Nor was it the future. It was now, the present moment, which held them both safe from either worry or regret. In the here and now there was only love, and warmth, and a feeling of flying, and Alex was secure in the knowledge that he would float safely back to earth and that Miles would be there to catch him.

He surrendered himself to Miles’s touch and Miles sent him soaring twice over, until Alex’s voice rose to a hoarse cry that shaped the sound of Miles’s name. They ended the night with their arms wrapped round each other, sweaty and boneless, tangled together like a pair of ragdolls. They didn’t move again until the sun came up and spread its rays across the pillow, the blue sky that peeked through the curtains as blue as any sky in LA.

Alex opened his eyes to the warmth of a kiss on his temple, and a smile that brought strength to his every aching sinew, and as he blinked in the light, he realised something new. He realised he was grateful, that despite his past mistakes, despite his failings and his flaws, and despite the fact that the world had turned upside down, he and Miles were still together, and that had to be proof of something. Maybe things wouldn’t always work out the way he wanted, and maybe there was pain on the road ahead, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t also love, and hope, and a chance to start over. It was a chance he wouldn’t squander; not this time, and never again.

He returned the kiss that Miles had given him, pouring himself into it with every inch of warmth and promise that he possessed, and he felt Miles smile against his mouth. He lifted himself from the bed, pushed back the curtains and let the new day into the room. He stole Miles’s shirt and his slippers and went into the kitchen. He put the kettle on and began to make them both a fresh cup of tea.


End file.
